At the Foothills of the Next Big Adventure

It seems like I’ve been getting ready for this Livestrong Survivor Summit Mt. Kilimanjaro climb for a year (Patrick says it seems tha way, too). It’s finally about to begin. I was able to cram everything on my gear list into two bags, and neither weighs more than 39 pounds. (Of course, now the trick will be getting them to the same airport where I end up, at the same time.) I’mflying to Seattle (???), then 10 hours to Amsterdam and another 9 hours to Kilimanjaro. I should get there tomorrow night, late.  Being me, with my crazy flight history, I am getting to Tanzania a day before everyone else, as long as KLM does a better job than United usually does.

It’s funny how, if you’re paying attention, life won’t let you take yourself too seriously. (Truthfully, if you’re not paying attention, life will slam your head into the table to make you look up, right?) So, as I’m consumed with important life quandaries like “Should I take a summit bag with me?” (I didn’t even know there was such a thing til Thursday… Now I NEED one.) And “Should I save my Survivor Summit fleece for summit day so it’s clean?”, life poked me in the back.

I have volunteered with the National Ability Center since the summer I moved to Park City. I used to work with challenged kids and disabled adults at the barn, with therapeutic riding and hippotherapy. In recent years, I help with the ski program. Wednesday, the NAC chose me to work with two instructors and a former Marine who suffers from severe, debilitating Post-Traumautic Stress Disorder. She’s 47. One instructor told me our Marine hadn’t been able to force herself to get out of bed for six years.  Now she’s better, but don’t touch her, don’t tell her to do anything, be careful how you talk to her, stay calm, no matter what happens. The next few hours were long, as you’d expect them to be when you are being hypervigilant about things that COULD be scary, threatening, or just plain close. The chairlift was scary, the speed of it was scary, the 7-year-old straightlining down the hill was scary (OK, he really was Scary, to me, too). And this is her life, every day, but magnified by 100. I was destroyed.

She followed her dad into the service, did time in Afghanistan, and now this is her life for the rest of her life. From what I’ve read, she can get better, and has, but she’ll never be well. I can’t stop thinking about her. I’ll be thinking about her as I purposely put myself in a somewhat scary situation next week, because she’s involuntarily living in a scary place every day. What’s the lesson life was sending me? I think it’s to be aware of and sensitive to people around you, always. Most people are just trying to live strong in their own way, every day (ok, most days! Myself included). Compassion, understanding, acceptance.

And one more thing. On my last hike up Park City Mountain Resort this week, I saw this:

Patrick suspected it was a dog(!), so I sent the picture to the state wildlife office, which confirmed that it’s the track of a mountain lion. The agent also reminded me to remember it is a predator, though not a threat… And said I was really lucky to see it! I take it as a good luck send-off from a big kitty who lives in my neighborhood. Next stop: Kilimanjaro.